


Almost Lover

by preblematic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Witch's Canyon (spn book)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:15:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2408147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preblematic/pseuds/preblematic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam didn’t say anything. He knew what Dean’s actions would have meant three years ago, but now he wasn’t so sure. In the months since Jess’s death, Sam had been reminded of what they used to get up to together—not that he had ever really forgotten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost Lover

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo, I finally wrote the Wincest. Destiel is great and all but Wincest is where it’s at. This is just fluffy fluff okay bc I needed it.
> 
> Set at the very end of “Witch’s Canyon.” So show wise that would be mid-late season 1 I believe

"Seemed like the right thing to do," Dean said, pulling on to the street and heading toward their motel. They would leave in the morning, but for now Sam had two non-fatal but damn painful knife wounds, and Dean’s ankle protested being used even for driving.

  
Sam didn’t say anything. He knew what Dean’s actions would have meant three years ago, but now he wasn’t so sure. In the months since Jess’s death, Sam had been reminded of what they used to get up to together—not that he had ever really forgotten.

That first night in Jericho, Dean had tried something, and Sam had shot him down. Not because he suddenly wasn’t attracted to his big brother—two years living “normally” had done nothing to dispel that quirk, but he did have a set of morals that included “don’t fuck your brother when you’re going to propose to your girlfriend.”

And then that demon came, and Sam didn’t really see anyone for a long while.

But now, Sam saw his brother, and he had for a while now, but Dean was ignoring him as an option. Ever since that initial rejection, Dean hadn’t tried anything, and on one hand, Same was flattered that Dean respected his choice enough to let it lie, but on the other hand Sam didn’t really know how to go about seducing his brother. Dean had always made the first move.

"First shower," Dean said, as soon as they were through the door. He deserved it, after all. Sam had some dirt on his knees and maybe a little bit of someone else’s blood on his clothes along with his own. Dean and Baird had trekked through the canyon, and Dean was covered in cold mud and sweat, and he was pretty sure that was the ashes of the crazy fucking witch he just burned that was stuck in his hair. So yeah, Dean got the first shower.

Sam stripped off his outer layers—the dirtiest ones—and flopped on to the bed, letting his boot clad feet dangle off the end. He slid his hands under the pillow and settled down on the bed. When Dean emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam and draped in a towel, Sam was woken from the light sleep he had fallen in to.

"Shower’s yours, Sammy."

It took Sam longer to shower. It always took Sam longer to shower. He had more hair and more general person to finagle around in the small motel shower, and he had to bandage those knife wounds before he could sleep anyway.

So he was surprised when he came out of the shower and Dean was still awake, sitting cross legged at the head of the bed, watching reruns of some show on the grainy TV. He was dressed in a t-shirt and boxers for bed, and his hair had just about dried.

Dean was shivering slightly. The heat only worked intermittently, and right now it had decided it was taking a break.

Sam, who had taken his bedclothes with him to the bathroom, gently sat down on the bed next to his brother. He bumped their shoulders together. “Hey.”

"Couldn’t sleep," Dean said without prompting. Sam hummed in understanding; he didn’t have to ask why. It could be any number of things, and really, he didn’t need to know.

Sam slowly, giving Dean a chance to stop him, slid his arm around his brother’s waist. Dean tensed when he felt the arm at his back, but when nothing was said he relaxed against Sam’s side. He turned and curled against the heat radiating from Sam’s skin, resting his head on the taller man’s chest.

Sam sighed, rested his chin on Dean’s ruffled, slightly damp hair. They stayed like that for a while, to the point where Sam though that Dean might have fallen asleep on him. Until Dean tilted his head, and Sam felt soft lips and a slightly stubbled chin brush against his neck.

Sam leaned his neck back against the headboard, and Dean worked his way up the now revealed skin. He straddled Sam’s lap and tangled his fingers in shaggy hair before biting down right at Sam’s jaw line.

The tall man chuckled. “Locals’ll be wondering tomorrow if you mark me up,” Sam said, breaking the comfortable silence.

Dean paused and spoke right above his brother’s Adam’s apple, teeth scraping against skin with every word. “We’ll just have to leave early then,” he said. He tightened his grip on Sam’s hair, and pulled his head back to the point where it was painful, biting and sucking pretty little bruises all along the length of his neck.

"Mm, keep me up late and leave early?" Sam asked. "I’m wondering if you’re worth it."

"Oh, believe me, sweet cheeks, I am," Dean said with his usual cocksure attitude.

"Let me see," Sam said, eyes squinting in concentration. "That nickname means I’m the one with my face in the pillow, right?"

"Better believe it, bitch," Dean hissed out the last word just to watch Sam shiver. Sam retaliated by thrusting his hips up against his brother’s, making them both moan. "Remind me to call you degrading names more often," Dean huffed.

"Please tell me two years hasn’t made you forget everything," Sam said, slipping his hands under Dean’s thin shirt. "Because I really don’t wanna have the conversation about the guns again."

"Don’t worry, Sammy, I still know what gets you going." Dean assured him. "Like if I do this." He pulled roughly on Sam’s hair, making the tall man let out something between a whimper and a moan. "Or this."

Dean moved until he could shove his knee up against the bulge in Sam’s boxers, and Sam keened. Dean’s face lit up in a show of satisfaction much too innocent for the situation. “Told ya.”

"Now I gotta ask, Sammy—"

"Sam," the younger protested weakly.

Dean ignored him. He peeled off his own shirt as he spoke. “How on earth did you get your rocks off while I was gone?” At Sam’s exasperated look he continued. “I doubt a random hook up could treat you how you like.” He pulled on Sam’s hair until his head clacked against the headboard just to illustrate. “And forgive me if I’m overstepping my bounds, but Jess didn’t look like the type of girl who could fuck someone with a gun to her throat. Real catch.”

"Do you want me to leave the bed?" Sam said angrily. "Because if you didn’t want to fuck you could’ve said so; you didn’t have to ruin the mood so thoroughly."

"Alright sorry, sorry," Dean said, backpedaling. He apparently had misgauged his brother’s state of moutning, but he didn’t want to dig through that can of worms. Apologize and don’t mention it again—this was the plan.

Sam’s bitchface lasted a few more seconds before he sighed and smiled tiredly. “This might’ve been a mistake.” He was suddenly very, very tired, and the places where that conjured ghost bitch had slashed him were really starting to throb. He was starting to think that taking some ibuprofen and going the fuck to sleep was the best course of action.

"Cocktease," Dean said, though not with any real anger.

"It’s been two years," Sam said, shoving Dean until he was somehow sitting on the tiny bed next to him. "Another night won’t kill you."

"Yeah, yeah." Dean coaxed Sam in to rolling on to his uninjured side and slid up behind him so that they could both fit on the thin bed. He carefully wound an arm around Sam’s waist, to avoid where he knew there were fresh wounds under his shirt. The whole Dean being the big spoon thing had worked less and less as Sam kept growing throughout his teens, but they both resolutely ignored it for the sake of their personal preferences.

"You’re taking care of this in the morning," Dean mumbled against Sam’s neck, rolling his hips forward. He knew, though, that if Sam protested at all he would let it go and wait until he was sure. Like Sam said, it had already been two years; another night or week or six months wouldn’t kill him.

Sam, however, was done waiting. He still loved Jess, and her death still hurt, but he had loved Dean a lot longer. He threaded his fingers through Dean’s and closed his eyes, planning to fall asleep soon. “Yeah, okay.”


End file.
